Let me promise bravely to uphold you,
though we falter at the threshold when we cross.

Aromas of stone and
                          fire. Deranged singing
from the grindstone,

Someone knew
the importance of giving him a name.

To write about age you need to take something and 
break it.
(This is an art that has always loved young women.
And silent ones.)

They made money—
                                maybe not the way
you think it should be done

My gift to you will be an abyss, she said, 
but it will be so subtle you’ll perceive it
only after many years have passed

Two poets 20 and 23 years old, 
Naked in bed with the shades drawn
Intertwine themselves, suck nipples and

At three A.M. we passed
through the Great Pit
and our boat, which had always been creaky

The memory of Lisa descends again
through night’s hole.
A rope, a beam of light

When Lisa told me she’d made love
to someone else, in that old Tepeyac warehouse
phone booth, I thought my world